Fill My Night
by The Vampire Rosabella
Summary: Regulus Black is sixteen years old, preparing to become a Death Eater and trying not to fall apart. But Barty Crouch may be about to change that...
1. Chapter 1

"Do you really mean it, Alice?"

"I do, seriously! He was staring at you the whole way through the lesson!"

"_Oh_!"

"He _must_ like you back. He _must_."

"Ohmigod, so do you think I should ask him?"

"Well, I don't know, d'you want to?"

"Well, obviously! He's gorgeous, and he isn't even going out with anyone at the moment – "

"Then go on, Julia, ask him!"

"Ohmigod, I can't believe it!"

"I know!"

"I mean, everyone likes him! I can't believe it! _Sirius Black_!"

That was it – the breaking point. Regulus slammed the book closed on the desk in front of him, flung it back into his bag with a flourish, rose to his feet and swept past the squealing girls' table.

"Oh, _please_," he snarled thinly, rolling his eyes at the hyper blonde, "he only wants the mudblood, that Lily Evans, same as all his pathetic little cronies. I wouldn't waste your time."

Then, leaving both females open-mouthed and scowling, he stormed out of the Hogwarts library, letting the door slam behind him on his exit – no doubt the librarian would be on his case about it as soon as she caught up with him, but for once he didn't care. It was insane, completely insane. Did the whole school have one huge crush on his older brother? Was he really the only one who could see through Sirius's arrogance; see the vile, big-headed idiot underneath?

At least his fellow Slytherins could be counted upon to look down on the antics of Potter and his idiotic gang. By all rights, Slytherin ought to have been Sirius's house as well as his brother's – but, of course, the filthy blood-traitor had just _had_ to be different. _Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart_…it was enough to make one sick. They were all a bunch of morons in Gryffindor House – blood-traitors and mudbloods who wanted to be big and brave and _rebellious_.

But, Regulus found himself thinking with a smirk, they would all pay for it one day. Their bravery would be no match for the Dark Lord's powers.

It had been several weeks now – twenty-three days, if one wanted to be precise – since Regulus's first encounter with his supporters: the _Death Eaters_, as they styled themselves. Men, mostly – some older, but some close to his own age; it was difficult to tell behind those masks… United, all of them, by a common aim, and a common thirst for glory. A common passion; a passion that Regulus too longed to realize.

He wanted to join them. And he would. Soon.

He couldn't suppress a shudder as the thought flooded through him. He had days to go. _Days_. Then, nothing would ever be the same.

It was what he wanted, wasn't it? It was his greatest desire, his shared passion, his common aim. His parents had always taught him about blood purity, about filth that was beneath him – halfbreeds, halfbloods, muggles, squibs, mudbloods. They tainted bloodlines; ruined plans; lived disgusting little lives. The world would be a better place without them. And that was the Dark Lord's aim.

Regulus had not yet met him – the Dark Lord. Few had. But he would, before long. The thought of it stood out prominently in his mind – an ever approaching stormcloud, looming over him. He was tired, sulky and irritable…but soon, as he told himself, it would all be over. His new life would begin. No longer would he be nerdy, pasty Regulus Black, the wimpy brother no one could _believe_ was related to suave Sirius; he would be the powerful one, the one whose name people remembered.

_Regulus Black_.

His parents would be so proud.

"Oi!"

"_Ow_!"

His stupor shattering, the world was suddenly a blur of confusion; he fell backwards, reeling from the impact of the collision with the larger, ominous figure before him.

"Watch where you're going!"

"It was _you_ who ran into _me_!"

"_You_ weren't even looking, mate, you were just wondering along with your head in the – oh-_ho_!"

Regulus blinked, staggered to his feet, glanced up – and felt suddenly queasy. _Of all the students in all the corridors in the whole school, it just _had_ to be him._

"Reggie!" Sirius boomed, his voice flooding the corridor like acid splashing into a cauldron. "Long time no see, little bro. Anyone would think you'd been _avoiding_ me!"

Regulus scowled, painfully aware of the passers-by craning their necks to stare at the unfolding scene. "Look, Sirius, I'm not in the mood. Just get out of my way."

"_That's_ not a nice way to greet your brother!" another voice crowed – naturally, Sirius never went anywhere without his friends, in particular James Potter. James, handsome James, _perfect_ James. Regulus's skin began to crawl. "'specially when you haven't seen him in a while. What's up, Reggie?"

"Look, I'm trying to – "

"Yeah, Reg!" Sirius grinned, reaching down a hand to ruffle Regulus's hair; Regulus glared and attempted to flatten it again. "Where've you been all this time? We were starting to think you must've fallen into the Lake – "

"Or slipped down a toilet – " That was Potter, still sneering.

"Or been eaten by a House Elf – " Lupin, soft-voiced and exhausted-looking, as always.

"Or choked on an Every Flavour Bean!" Pettigrew put in, as desperate to be included as ever.

"Or, y'know," Sirius added languidly, flicking Regulus's shoulder, "maybe just realised how pathetic you were, and crawled into a hole and died somewhere. But I didn't like to get my hopes up."

The cronies laughed; Regulus glared coldly. "Where have _you_ been, then, Sirius? Off counting your fangirls and combing your hair?"

"At least I've _got_ fangirls, Reg," the elder siblings announced, his playful grin never fading, "which is more than can be said for you. And _you_ might want to try combing your hair once in a while, or not sleeping in your robes…it brings the family name down, having one of us wandering around looking like Kreacher on a bad day."

"Shut your face!"

"What, can't a big sibling look out for his kid brother every now and then? And, speaking of that – there's this new this, Reg, called _sleep_. Ever tried it?"

"Tell _him_ that!" Regulus's hand shot towards Lupin, whose eyes widened slightly – more in amusement than anything else.

"Ah, but Moony's big and bad enough to care for himself, see," Sirius explained. "You're just a kid, Regulus. Mummy and Daddy wouldn't be happy if they could see you now, would they? Not their _good little pureblood son_ – "

"You shut the hell up about them!"

"No, why should I? They're bastards, Reg. Surely even a little dragon-bogey like you can see that?"

"You – you _filthy blood-traitor_!"

This brought only a unison roar of laughter from the group: Potter, Pettigrew, Lupin, Sirius, and even those around them; everyone was staring, jeering, laughing at the pathetic little boy challenging his betters.

Regulus reached for his wand.

"Oh, that's a good one, that is, Reggie!" Tears began to stream from Sirius's eyes as he gasped for breath between his harsh barks of laughter. "That is absolutely _brilliant_, you sound just like Dad! That's absolutely – _hey_!"

He had spotted the wand, and was reaching for his own; Regulus drew his high, the shrieks from behind him only cheering him on, making him more determined – a blinding flash of colour; another; another; he felt pain but didn't let it bother him, as long as Sirius was feeling twice as much –

– and then, in a blur, it was all _too_ intense. He felt his head strike something hard…his wand was no longer in his fingertips, and he was slumped halfway down the wall of the corridor – with Sirius right in front of him, his face a perfect mask of livid fury.

"_Now_, you little hangnail." Regulus felt each of his brother's syllables, each a breath of warm loathing. "_Now_, what do you say?"

Regulus swallowed, his mind wiping clear, his eyes never blinking.

"_What do you say_?"

Silence had fallen. Hushed horror dominated the corridor. Sirius's hoarse hisses echoed, heard by everyone. Each second dragged on forever; Regulus's eyes remained open, seeing only Sirius; his heart pounded so fiercely against his robes that he was sure his brother could hear it, that they _all_ could. Whatever jinx his brother had cast had left him feeling limp, concussed, aching – or had that just been the impact with the wall? He didn't know; couldn't think through the haze.

"I'll give you _five seconds_ to say you're sorry – _five seconds_."

_Never_. Regulus waited.

"One." One of Sirius's hand held his wand, which was pointed at Regulus's throat (he wouldn't use it, would he? Not that like?); the other flicked up fingers, denoting each number as it was spoken. "Two." A pause. "I'm waiting, Regulus. No? Okay. _Three_."

A snigger from behind – probably Potter. Regulus allowed himself to close his eyes, bracing himself, and Sirius, smirking, continued, a grin snaking across his lips as he prepared for the big word. "Four. _F_– "

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Noise burst through the scene; suddenly, Regulus was free, but for half a second did not realise why…and then he saw them, the two figure. One, his brother, lying stiff at his feet – the other a scrawny, blonde-haired boy standing a short way off, his wand still pointed at the place Sirius had been moments ago. Regulus's lips parted in silent surprise.

"What on _earth_ is all this?"

"_Black! Crouch! Black!_ My office, _now_!"

Two teachers, screaming over the hubbub of confusion from the watching crowd; Regulus stepped aside, suddenly free of the strange sensation – allowing his brother to be revived, and picking up his wand.

Shepherded fiercely by Slughorn, he found himself ushered into step along his brother and the other figure. Sirius glared; Barty, however, seemed unfazed.

Regulus felt the soft ghost of a smile fade over him, and continued on his path to Slughorn's office.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sorry, Professor."

"That's alright, Black, that's alright…" Slughorn breathed a low, haggard sigh; he had kept Regulus's sentencing for last, as it was obviously the one he had least been looking forward to. "You're a bright boy – we can all see that – but you will have to learn to _control_ yourself."

"Sir – "

"_Especially_ in times like these, boy. Now, a scrap with your brother is hardly Azkaban-worthy material, and goodness knows it was probably more than justified, but really, _wands drawn in the corridor_…"

Regulus squirmed, staring down at the heavy wooden floor of the office.

"Now, I gave your brother and Crouch a week of detentions – and that's me being _lenient_, my boy. You're all promising young students, with great futures ahead of you – but we can't be doing with this fighting. This is your third time in this sort of trouble this term, Black; do you realise that?"

_Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!_

"Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor."

"Nonetheless, a week of detentions it is. And make sure they're the last I have to give you."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you, Professor."

"Good." Slughorn nodded. "I _like_ you, Black. You're a clever lad. Talented. Don't…"

How strange it was, Regulus mused, that this sudden pause could instil more panic in him than any of Slughorn's words had managed to so far.

"…don't throw it away, will you?"

"No, Professor. Sorry, Professor."

Slughorn smiled thinly. "Good lad. Now, go on – out you go. You've got an essay due in tomorrow for me, by the way; don't forget!"

"Thank you, Professor. No, Professor…" Regulus rose and slipped from the room, the door shutting behind him just in time to mask Slughorn's ears from his loud outburst of, "_Shit_!"

_Potions essay_. Since when the hell had there been a potions essay? He'd made sure these past few weeks to write everything down in his notebook – homework, coursework, important dates. He'd worked out a schedule of priorities: deciding which assignments from which teachers he could afford to skip; ensuring he never "forgot" more than two pieces of homework in a row for the same class; making sure that he never pushed his luck by ditching an assignment set by a teacher who was bound to get suspicious. McGonagall was one such teacher; Slughorn was another such. How in Merlin's name had he forgotten about a blasted potions essay?

He'd never been late with a potions assignment before. It had, up until this year, been one of his best classes.

"Give you Hell, did he?"

Regulus froze, feeling his cheeks burn crimson: it was only then that he noticed the scrawny figure slumped against the wall, almost camouflaged against the stones. Despite being a full year younger than Regulus, Barty Crouch was already a good head taller, and a great deal more…what was the word? Charming, perhaps? Charismatic? _En_igmatic?

He was smiling. Regulus swallowed hard.

"I – "

"He's a prat. Tried to get me to join that idiotic _club_ of his in my first year. I wouldn't touch it with a barge pole…you're in it, aren't you?"

"What?"

"The _Slug_ Club." Barty's lips curled themselves snidely around the words. "Old Sluggy's best and brightest."

"Oh…" Regulus hesitated awkwardly, balling his hands into fists at his sides more out of discomfort that defence. "No – er – yes, I mean. I am."

"You're one of his favourites, then. Thought he'd have let you off with it altogether…what did he give you?"

"Sorry?"

"Your _punishment_." Barty smirked. "For _fighting_, you bad little boy."

"Oh – yeah – a week of detentions." _And a bloody potions essay I'd forgotten about._

"Same here." Barty sighed, and stretched his arms casually behind his head. "Perhaps we'll have to do them together. Shining trophies, or whatever it is. All the Quidditch rubbish. You're Seeker, right?"

"Yes." Surely all of Slytherin, if not the entire school, knew that; Regulus had been playing Seeker since his third year, famously replacing Terentius Philander after he'd sensationally had his hand slashed off by a hippogriff. "You're…"

"…hopeless on a broomstick," Barty concluded with a grin, "but it's Barty to you."

"I know. I'm – I'm Regulus."

"I know."

Regulus chuckled nervously; Barty gave a short laugh, and finally stepped away from the cold stone wall that had been supporting his form.

"You free?"

"What?"

"No – _Slug Club_ meetings now, or anything?"

"Oh – no. No, I'm free."

Barty beamed, and began to stride along the corridor; Regulus absent-mindedly fell into step alongside him, heading towards the entrance hall.

"Come outside with me, then," Barty urged: the silky voice was as a calm and smooth as ever, but something seemed to flicker in the watery eyes as Regulus turned to face them; then, seemingly as an afterthought, Barty tagged on, "I could do with some company. And if anyone shows up giving you grief, I'll kick them away for you."

_I'll kick them away for you._ The words echoed in Regulus's mind, and once more his ashen cheeks burned: it was so pathetic, to be the one who needed rescued – and yet so pleasant, on the other end of the scale, to have someone willing to rescue you. "Listen – er – thanks…for…"

"Don't mention it. Any excuse to teach that filthy blood traitor a lesson…" Barty coughed, slowing slightly in his strides. "No offence, him being your brother and everything. Maybe I shouldn't've – "

"No – no, it was really good of you!" _I'm glad you did_. The words danced on Regulus's tongue, but he couldn't make them come; instead he shrugged, and shook his head. "He _is_ a blood traitor. We've disowned him; he's staying with the Potters, I think, or something – "

" – and _they're_ the biggest bunch of Muggle Lovers since Dumbledore himself," Barty muttered with distaste – then, with a smile, added, "Besides, he's so much bigger than you. Sirius."

Regulus scowled. "_Every_one's bigger than me."

"Well, you're _supposed_ to be small, aren't you?" _Small_: Regulus very nearly objected at the sour, belittling word, but Barty continued oblivious. "Seekers always are. The best ones, anyway. They've got to be light and speedy."

"Yeah, but…"

"But?"

Both paused mid-stride; Regulus blinked, finding his eyes inexplicably drawn to the figure at his side. _Crouch, Barty Crouch_…he wasn't particularly large himself, except in comparison to Regulus; he had something of a juvenile look about him, with that floppy blonde hair, those childish freckles and those quintessentially mischievous eyes. His Slytherin robes hung awkwardly from his scrawny frame; his wry lips were twirled into a smile: almost endearing, almost frightening.

"…but nothing."

Barty smiled, beginning to walk once more, heading towards the light looming at the end of the hall. "Alright, then. And – _speaking_ of speedy…"

"Yeah?"

A childish grin; a flash of stunning white teeth. "Race you down to the lake, Mr. Black. Come on!"


End file.
